Art Animal » Fiction

Home is Home

Mallory Nezam — Fri, 19 Jul 2013 06:19:36 +0000

The fluorescent light bore down but had a way of beating off her skin like daylight. The way her son put it, she could turn anything around. She built her empire in the water, of the water. She knew her empire was her skin and bones. The extent of her story she carried on her [&hellip

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Saudade

Mallory Nezam — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 05:53:33 +0000

I stand at the edge where the water meets the shore, toes curled as the misty cold rolls in. My reflection in the water, your reflection in the water, a reflection bobbed back and forth. The sea has a way of coming and going and coming back again, leaving us with nothing. “Don’t ask me [&hellip

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Fiction: Cygnet Lake by Melanie Bell

Melanie Bell — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:40:25 +0000

“The old man spoke of her.” Lily’s fingers tugged at my sleeve. “Huh?” I blinked, clutching my World History textbook. How dare my odd roommate come storming in when the Mayans had just begun their first temple! “Spoke of who?” “The ghost, of course,” Lily said. “I found him in the library after French class, [&hellip

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Dinner

Mallory Nezam — Fri, 14 Dec 2012 06:00:12 +0000

Dinner always begins with the effortless tap on my door, followed by the monotone, “c’mon, Juh-sell.” I peek my head out and see my perpetually pain-stricken host brother, Jeremy, trudge down a dark hallway toward what seems like his death bed. Instead, it is a reheated meal full of awkward silences and placated conversation. Jeremy, [&hellip

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When We Were Born Again

Mallory Nezam — Fri, 23 Nov 2012 14:09:25 +0000

For a while there was nothing, and then there was everything. Quick as lightning the wheat had come up, the soy and the corn stalks broke through the soil, and the chickens had begun to make noise. The days in February had run together, but today the grass thawed and there were sounds, there were [&hellip

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Predpriyatie

Mallory Nezam — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 10:17:34 +0000

The light filtered in in a dirty way. The windowsill was dusty and pale walls hugged light around the room as though it were steam. This was the kind of light you could see. Ivelina’s wrist and watering can were illuminated as she stood arrested, staring out onto the rooftop patio. For a moment, this [&hellip

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Out Like Smoke

Alison Kjeldgaard — Sun, 08 Jul 2012 13:51:10 +0000

Sirens. Heavy footsteps thumped across wood floorboards over my head. I thought of that scene in The Birds when Tippi Hedren is trapped in the attic, and all you hear is the constant slamming of bird bodies against the roof. That goddamn familiar voice leaked through the ceiling hissing in my ear. “It’s a sure [&hellip

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Flash Fiction: The Beach

Alison Kjeldgaard — Sun, 08 Jul 2012 13:26:16 +0000

The ocean sparkled in the noonday sun. Beatrice—plump, divorced—wore a polka dot one-piece. Her rump sank in the sand. A sudden storm darkened the waves like a cloak. She remembered a moustache tickling her lips. A red umbrella trampled in the street. And then, the front porch echoing, “Come back, come back.” The sand sharpened [&hellip

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